The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset

by David F. Berens

  Troy nodded. “Answer it. Tell him what’s going on. Tell him the cops are here and that we’re going to have Karah back in a few minutes.”

  She answered it and stood. Troy pulled the drape back a crack and peered toward the house next door. He couldn’t see anything. Laura was relaying the events of the past few hours, her tears forming again.

  Her voice faded into the background as Troy began to go over all that had happened recently in his head. None of it made any sense. It was a bizarre puzzle with pieces that didn’t seem to fit together. There was some crazy dude from the bar following the girls and maybe kidnapping Karah, but he may actually be after Laura, whose dad, Rick Hairre—a politician from up in Murrell’s Inlet—was brutally murdered just a few days ago. And women from all over Troy’s past were seemingly swarming into South Carolina; first Ellie Mae and Daisy Mae Gallup, and now Debby “Gidget” Robinson—or whatever her not-so-blissful married name was now—had come to the island with her husband, Victor. Troy shook his head. What in the Sam Hill is goin’ on around here?

  “Okay, Uncle Roger,” Laura was saying into the phone, “I’ll see you in a few hours.” She clicked the phone closed and sighed. “They’re on the way.”

  Troy nodded, his head swimming with all the wackiness of the past day. He tipped the straw cowboy hat back on his head. Laura was looking at him… no, she was staring at him. Her mouth was hanging open slightly and she was blinking rapidly.

  “Your hat,” she mumbled, and raised a hand to point at it. “I just realized… it’s… it’s exactly like the one I bought for my dad when I was little. He wore it everywhere… I can’t believe I just noticed.”

  Troy felt a shiver run up his spine.

  “Where did you get yours?” she asked.

  “I… um—” he started to answer, but thankfully was interrupted by the door opening.

  Chesney walked in.

  “There’s no one over there.” He held out his hands.

  “Oh no,” muttered Laura, and then sobbed.

  “The door was wide open, but no one was inside. It appears there was some kind of struggle in the kitchen. There’s some blood smeared on the floor and on the door to the carport.”

  “That’s from the dude,” Laura said and wiped tears from her eyes. “He looked like he was bleeding all over.”

  “You saw him?”

  “Yes, when I got home, he was waiting for me.” Laura recounted the events. “I never saw Karah though.”

  “He was probably there to get you, and Karah just happened to be in the way.” Chesney chewed his lip.

  Laura looked puzzled, and asked, “What does he want with me?”

  “I’m not really clear on exactly what’s happening yet, but I have some evidence that your stepfather may have been involved in some kind of corporate blackmail scheme.”

  “What? You mean Rick?”

  Chesney nodded. “There was some sort of really big check issued to him… by a paper mill. I don’t know, maybe a payment to keep quiet about dumping around here, or something like that.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Laura said, her head shaking.

  “It seems that maybe they were paying your dad to keep things quiet about the pollution coming out of the mill. And maybe Rick had a change of heart and decided to blow the whistle on it, or something like it.”

  Troy raised his eyebrows. “And they’d kill a man over something like that?”

  Chesney shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it could be millions of dollars in fines. Not to mention, millions more to retrofit the mill to eliminate the pollution.”

  “Dang,” Troy said, and whistled. “But with Rick gone—sorry, Laura—what in the world would they want with her?”

  “That’s the part I can’t really figure out,” Chesney said, and rubbed the back of his neck. “They apparently issued a big payment to Rick—a seven-million-dollar payment—in the form of a cashier’s check. Maybe that was the hush money.”

  Laura gasped and Troy raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah,” Chesney agreed, “but, the thing is, it was never cashed. It never showed up in any account that I could find on Rick.”

  He turned to look at Laura. “Unless… um…”

  Laura realized what he was asking, “Ha! Right! I just bounced a check two days ago. That’s why I got that twenty-five-dollar tip from Rick at the diner, remember?”

  “Yeah,” Chesney said, “unless maybe it hadn’t cleared the bank yet?”

  Laura started to protest. “Well, I think I’d know if there was a seven million doll—” She froze. “Wait… I just used my debit card at Starbucks earlier. It shouldn’t have worked. I have literally zero dollars in the bank.”

  She pulled out Karah’s cell and clicked a few buttons. Troy thought she must be pulling up her account online. After a few seconds, Laura’s mouth gaped open.

  “Oh… Oh my God.”

  She handed the phone to Chesney. He took it and pursed his lips looking at the screen.

  “It’s… I don’t… I mean…” she stammered. “It’s not seven million though.”

  “That’s the other thing,” Chesney said and handed the phone back to her. “I also have evidence of a half-a-million-dollar payment to another account that I couldn’t identify—looks like it must’ve been yours—that actually did get deposited.”

  Tears again pooled in her eyes; “He must’ve deposited it before he died.”

  “Yes,” Chesney said, and spoke carefully, “it looks like that’s the case.”

  “So,” Troy interjected, “they want Laura to give the half million back?”

  Chesney shook his head. “Unfortunately, that damage is done. It’s traceable and with the evidence I have, I could make the link.”

  “Oh,” Troy said.

  “The half million is a drop in the bucket,” Chesney added. “The seven million, on the other hand… they probably want that back… wherever it is. It’s a check that anyone, anywhere can walk into a bank and cash.”

  “But, I don’t have that check,” Laura protested.

  “They don’t know that,” Chesney said, looking at her. “They probably think Rick gave it to you for safe-keeping.”

  Laura put her head in her hands and a gentle sob escaped her mouth.

  “Given the state that your stepfather was in when I found him,” Chesney added gently, “I’d say they were trying to get him to tell them where the check was… and I’m guessing they never found it. That led them to you.”

  Troy exhaled through his teeth. “And I’m betting they think Laura knows all about the deal… so they need her out of the way too.”

  “That’s exactly what they want,” Chesney said. “They need Laura to go away to tie up the loose ends.”

  “Dangit,” Troy said, “that’s a tight spot.”

  “All of this goes back to the paper mill, and I’ve got a call in to one of my buddies at the FBI.” Chesney hiked his thumb in the direction of the next house. “He’ll know what to do about Victor.”

  “Who’s Victor?” Laura looked confused.

  Troy was in shock. “Victor? As in, Debby’s husband, Victor?”

  “Who the hell is Debby?” Laura was even more baffled.

  “Victor Böhring is the CEO of Consolidate Paper Mills,” Chesney said.

  “Debby must be married to Victor,” Troy added.

  “Why does that name sound so familiar?” Laura asked.

  “The credit card,” Chesney said, “from Drunken Jack’s. Remember?”

  “Oh, shit…” she said, eyes opening wide, “the two dudes who had his card must’ve been the ones he sent after me.”

  “Sounds that way, yes.” Chesney sighed and turned to Troy. “And you know his wife?”

  “Ha, well, ya see,” he sputtered, “that’s a story from another lifetime of mine, but if it’s the same Debby, yes, I do know her.”

  “How does she figure into all of this?” Laura asked.

  “Not sur
e,” Chesney said, shrugging. “She may not know anything about it.”

  “I got the distinct feeling that she and Victor aren’t very lovey-dovey,” Troy said. “I bumped into her on the beach and there didn’t seem to be any excitement about being down here with her husband.”

  “So, Victor is here?” Chesney asked.

  “I reckon he is,” Troy said.

  Chesney’s cell phone buzzed. He answered it. “Okay, yup, got it.” He clicked the phone shut and turned to Troy and Laura. “Cavalry’s here. I’ve got two uniforms downstairs. They’ll stay with you until we figure out what our next move is.” He turned the screen toward them. “And I’ve got a missed call from John, my buddy at the FBI. Give me a few minutes to talk to him and then we’ll figure out what to do.”

  A gentle, single knock came at the door and Chesney let the two police officers in. They had different uniforms on and appeared to be from the Litchfield P.D. Chesney exchanged a few words with them, and they nodded first toward Laura and then to Troy. They moved toward the front of the house and peered out the windows, apparently on watch.

  “Back in five,” Chesney said as he walked out the door and closed it behind him.

  Troy slumped down on the couch beside Laura. He tipped his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. The hat was upside down in his lap and the inside band was showing. In small, sharpie scribbled letters—that he had never noticed before—were the initials R.H.

  “Dangit,” he muttered.

  31

  A Really Böhring House

  Man’ti stood in the living room alone. He was studying the tasteful and obviously expensive oil painting of a white egret hanging over the tufted linen couch. From somewhere down the hallway, he heard something that sounded like a whip crack and then a scream. The mister must not be happy with the missus. He sniffed and cracked his neck with a small smile. Bitch probly had it comin’.

  Hearing the clip-clop of shoes coming, he turned to see Victor Böhring enter the room. He had a handkerchief out and was wiping his hands. Man’ti thought he might’ve seen a little blood on the cloth.

  Victor shrugged. “Vell?”

  “She ain’t talkin’,” Man’ti said. “Ah dunno where this Troy is and I dunno if she’s gonna tell me.”

  Victor walked to the kitchen, took a small glass tumbler from the cabinet, and filled it with water from the refrigerator. He took a sip and licked his lips.

  “Are you telling me,” he said flatly, “zat you are unable to make zees girl talk? Big man, wit zee tattoos, and a little girl is keeping secrets from you?”

  Man’ti could feel the heat rising in his face. “You said not to kill—”

  Victor slammed his hand down on the kitchen counter. “I know vat I said.” He inhaled slowly, a frown growing on his mouth. “You do not ave to kill her to make her talk, no?”

  Man’ti nodded. “Ah’m actually not sure she knows where he is.”

  “Make her tell you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And eef she doesn’t tell you, get rid of her.” Victor took another sip of his water.

  Man’ti turned to go. “Oh, and theyahs a few cops down the way. Seen ‘em come in this morning.”

  Victor raised his eyebrows. He seemed to consider this for a long moment. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled his key ring out and tossed it to Man’ti. “Get her out of here,” Victor said, and waved his hand away from them. “Take her to zee apartment. Make her talk or make her go avay.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And for God’s sake,” —Victor finished his water— “don’t get any blood on my car.”

  “Ah’ll use a tarp.”

  Victor stuck out his hand, palm up. “Vatever you need to do, do it.”

  Man’ti nodded and walked out.

  He didn’t want to kill the girl, but if she wouldn’t tell him what he needed to know, he’d shoot her in the head. And no one would find this body like they had found Rick Hairre’s. He clomped down the stairs to the storage room underneath the Böhring house.

  Karah Campobello shivered in the darkness. It had been hours since the huge man had left her here. She was cold, achy, hungry and scared. Her hands were still zip-tied behind her back and her wrists were swollen and bleeding from the restraint’s bite. Duct tape was strapped over her mouth, but she had screamed until her throat was raw. It didn’t seem loud enough for anyone to hear.

  After several unsuccessful attempts to kick the door down, she’d cried for most of what she guessed was the entire night. She was sure she was dead. She’d probably be raped and murdered and no one would ever know how or why. All because of Troy… she had no idea why, but it seemed like the man holding her here wanted to get to him.

  Without warning, the door screeched open and bright sunlight blazed into the room, blinding her momentarily. Silhouetted in the light was her captor.

  She edged back into the corner of the room, her tears coming again. He moved into the room and came toward her. Without hesitation, he grabbed the edge of the tape on her mouth and ripped it off.

  She yelped uncontrollably with the sudden pain.

  “Please don’t,” Karah cried hoarsely. “I told you before, I don’t know where Troy is.”

  “Lies,” the brutish man said simply.

  He touched her cheek and she shied away. She could see the wolfish glint in his eyes and terror flashed its way into her heart.

  “No… please…” she whimpered.

  “Ya got ten seconds, sweetheart,” the man said, “ta tell me what I wanna know. Otherwise, we’re going on a little trip and one of us ain’t comin’ back.”

  “I swear to you, I have no idea where Troy is,” Karah said through fresh tears. “I was supposed to meet up with him yesterday, but he never showed up.”

  “Right,” the muscled man said, smacking the duct tape back over her mouth, “guess that settles it.”

  He stood quickly and without so much as a grunt of effort, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She kicked wildly, screaming against her restraints, but he ignored her. He carried her out the door and into a carport. A carport exactly like the ones under the houses on… Holy shit, we’re still on Pawleys Island, she thought.

  She screamed against the tape again, but her voice was still raw from crying out last night. Suddenly, the big man slapped her ass… and it wasn’t in a good way. It felt like he’d cracked her tailbone. She cried out again and kicked as hard as she could. The man was impossibly strong. He clicked a set of car keys and a nearby Mercedes SUV beeped as it unlocked. He opened the back and threw her in. She watched as he walked around and got into the driver’s seat. She kicked the door with all the effort she could muster, but with bare feet, she wasn’t doing much damage. He started the car and pulled them out onto Myrtle Avenue.

  Looking out the back window, she was shocked to see that they were literally right next door to her cousin’s house. She sobbed as she watched it get smaller and smaller as they drove away.

  When they reached the causeway, the man turned onto the bridge and sped up. Karah had given up on screaming and slumped down in the rear compartment of the expensive looking car. She realized she was sitting on a large green tarp and next to the tarp was a bag with a spool of rope. There were also four, forty-five pound weights, like the kind she remembered seeing in the gym at school. He was taking her to kill her and dump her body in the water somewhere.

  Her mind raced. She needed to get out of here. With no obvious solution at hand, she decided to save her strength. If her feet ever hit the ground again, she was going to run as hard and fast as she could. This dude was big, and big dudes weren’t usually very fast. She closed her eyes and tried to bring her heart rate down to calm herself.

  Darren wondered how much he looked like a zombie trudging down Myrtle Avenue. With the bandages on his head, hands, and legs all dirty with old dried blood, and his limp from his bad foot, he was sure he resembled the living dead. God knows he felt like the livi
ng dead. His hand throbbed and his leg was on fire. Though he’d been to the hospital and taken the antibiotics, he felt sure the infection was back and raging through his system.

  His mind was bleary and ravaged by all the losses his body had been through. Fingers and toes were missing, both his eyes were severely damaged, and his nose was crushed almost flat. He grinned to himself. But ah’m still kickin’! He coughed out a laugh, but didn’t even notice the blood that trickled down his chin.

  He urged himself to keep walking, just a few more steps to Victor’s house. He didn’t plan on knocking, he’d just open the storage shed underneath the house and kill the girl. He decided he wasn’t going to shoot her, he was just going to choke the ever-lovin’ shit out of her until she died. And then he was gonna choke her some more… and maybe after that he’d shoot her. Hell, he might even tear her fookin’ head off. He laughed again until he sent himself into another coughing fit.

  As he walked into the carport, he thought it odd that Victor’s ostentatious Mercedes was gone. A late model gold Toyota Corolla was parked in the driveway—he had no idea whose car that was—but shielding his eyes and looking through the back-seat window revealed a bucket and cleaning supplies. Must be the maid’s car. He walked under the house to the back of the carport where the storage shed was located. He stopped short. The door was open. Shit, he thought. Inside he heard a faint scraping sound. Somebody was in there. He grinned. Maybe the girl was in there, and she was still tied up and couldn’t escape.

  “Come out, come out, wherevah you are,” he sing-songed as he entered the door.

  A woman in a blue dress was pushing a mop, and she stopped suddenly upon hearing him come in.

  “Oh, señor,” she said, and raised her hand to her mouth as her eyes darted from one of Darren’s blood-soaked bandages to another.

  “Wheyah… is… that… fookin’… bitch?”

  “I don’ know what you are talking about, señor.”

  Darren raised the pistol and shot her in the head twice before she fell. The red burning sensation came back. He walked out of the shed and headed up the stairs into the Böhring’s beach house.